c a r n i v a l
by Veroxion
Summary: /SasuSaku\ You haven't known a nightmare until you've known this. "Don't worry, love, he won't hurt you," /Oneshot. Darkfic\


**Author's Notes: **A re-upload of the first oneshot in _Existed_. I'll be posting the others later. Please note that this is in second person. Meaning _you _(Sakura) and _him_ (Sasuke). I hope you enjoy!

**Warning:** Dark fic, second person.

**Disclaimer:** Naruto is owned by Masashi Kishimoto. Plot belongs to Veroxion.

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You pace about, bare feet thudding on the hard cement floor exactly seventy-three times before your legs give out, and you're staggering, fumbling for something to hold on to until you collapse to the ground.

Your heart beats in time with the lone clock in the seemingly endless hallway, and its slow ticks are a solace to you, synchronized with your ragged breaths. Glancing up at the round clock that hangs above your head, you realize it's barely two in the morning, and, rising to your feet, you continue down the hall, occasionally fingering the black band around your slender wrist.

A cold sweat breaks out on your rather large forehead as you turn the corner. You feel like someone else is walking next to you, which you find rather unnerving. Reaching out for the rusty handle of the dilapidated door in front of you, you sigh, letting your heavy eyelids close before giving the doorknob a good pull.

Today he sits silently on a broken wooden chair in the otherwise empty room, his charcoal eyes seeming to perforate through your skull. His black lips tighten into a straight line, his pallid face wearing a peculiar expression.

The bluish skin under his eyes is tainted by insomnia, and his inky hair hangs limply, reaching to his narrow jawbone. A tattered tophat is perched on his head, casting shadows over his long, angular face.

What catches your eye, though, is the faded topaz necktie that he wears with his usual dirtied white shirt. It is oddly elegant-looking and resplendent compared to the things he usually accessorizes with. It makes you wonder… where will he take you today?

He seems to sense your thoughts and gestures for you to come to him, crooking a finger, wearing a sly smirk on his chapped lips. "Today is carnival day," he announces darkly, and you nod as if you understand what he means.

With a quiet chuckle, he stands; rubbing his marble hands together, and takes one step, advancing towards you. His icy breath brushes your exposed neck, and his cool lips press to your colorless cheek in an ironically caring manner.

You follow him across the room like an eager-to-please mutt, tagging right on his heels. Having to walk with speed to keep up with his strangely swift pace, you nearly are gasping for air by the time you've reached the exit.

Curling his spidery fingers around the knob, he opens the door ahead of you, ushering you through the portal to the supposed carnival.

He notices your obvious dejection and shakes his head, as though he's ashamed at you for not being able to hide your emotion. You feel blood rush to your cheeks, filling them with color, and let your gaze fall to the grimy floor.

A soft yet bone-chilling laugh escapes from behind his lips, and you look up suddenly, wondering what is so amusing about this situation. Your eyes, like shards of emerald stone, meet his opposing obsidian ones for a fleeting moment before a sensation of fear urges you to look away. However, you soon are forced to look back when you feel a stingingly algid finger tilting up your chin. You gaze at him through impossibly long lashes as he cups your face in his marble hand, wishing you could stop the blush from creeping back into your cheeks. Waiting for him to say something, you nervously bite at your cracked bottom lip, staring up into his startlingly onyx eyes.

Instead, he hesitates to speak, leaning closer to you so slowly that you hardly notice until his mouth skims yours for an impossibly brief moment. The too-hopeful thought that he might actually care about you more than a lifeless rag doll is short-lived when he yanks you by the wrist, causing you to fall to your knees, and starts dragging you down the passageway.

You cannot help but wince as he hauls you along behind him, jerking on your thin arm until you're sure it's going to be pulled from its socket. Your knees scrape painfully on the uneven ground of stone, and even in the dull light, you can see the beads of your own sparkling crimson blood on your legs. You silently wonder where he is bringing you.

Finally you reach the end of the hallway, and he tells you to stand, assisting you as he wrenches you painfully to your feet. You manage a forced smile of fake gratitude to satisfy him and brush off your soiled clothing.

You want to ask why he bothered bringing you to the very end of the hallway, but before you manage a word, he shoves open a door that was hidden in the blackness of the shadows. You hadn't even seen it there before.

Your jade eyes dance about the curious scene that is displayed before you. There are carousel horses accompanied by looming Ferris wheels, red and gold circus tents placed sporadically about the area.

Dollish porcelain girls twirl around, faded skirts tickled by the breeze. People with strings stapled to their skin mimic the appearance of puppets, moving with a fluidity that is somehow almost robotic.

Mime-like humans and clowns linger about the tents, casting unsettling glances your way. Faint accordion music can be heard in the distance, with a dash of some other instrument, perhaps an oboe, intruding every so often. The lilting notes, a haunting melody of flats and sharps, are unusually eerie for carnival music.

You suppress a shudder as one of the clownish men approach you, their hot breath on your face, reeking of death and something almost metallic – blood, maybe. The look of madness swirling in the jester's eyes is enough to terrify you into silence.

"Don't worry, love, he won't hurt you," your coal-eyed master assures you, lacing his gloved fingers through yours and pulling you after him as he starts making his way through the macabre circus.

You nod, hoping he's telling the truth, and stay close behind him, clinging to him like a leech to naked skin.

As he heaves you along, your heart thuds irregularly, your breaths shooting in and out at a ragged, choppy pace. Something about the atmosphere of this alleged carnival is wreaking havoc on your insides. Your stomach twists into knots and your heart is pumping at an impossible rate to keep your thick blood moving through your protesting veins. You aren't enjoying this carnival. Not in the least.

The characters you pass by as you follow him examine you closely with hollow eyes, acting as if _you_ were the one with strange makeup splattered on your face or with lacerations on your gaunt cheeks. It's as though you are the freak show, and the dolls and clowns and carousel horses are your audience, staring at you as though you're a piece of prettied-up meat.

His grip on your wrist tightens, his blunt, filthy nails splitting the pasty skin of your underarm, warm blood spurting from the fresh crescent-shaped abrasions. You take it that you aren't walking quickly enough for his liking, and you loyally quicken your pace, your bare feet almost brushing his heels with every step you take. You hope that wherever he's taking you to will involve many less nightmarish clowns and peculiar ballerinas.

"Do excuse me, but… where are we going now?" you say, your voice weak and pathetic, sounding as though it had gone through a pit of knives; scratchy, laden with despair and pain.

He only presses his nails deeper into your skin, a half-sneer overtaking his thin lips.

"Our destination should not be of any concern to you, pet. We'll be there soon, and you'll enjoy it thoroughly, I promise."

You bite your bottom lip, sighing softly and continuing to follow him. You have no choice but to obey his demands.

Glancing behind you, you realize that there is an uncanny parade of the circus beings in the wake of you, traipsing silently as though they were soldiers of death. They all wear smirks on their made-up faces, though their dead eyes lack any emotion.

This is not a carnival.

This is a death march.

Panic's cruel grip seizes you, and you are overwhelmed by fear, tripping over your own dirty feet as you're hauled along behind him.

Finally you arrive.

A large building lies ahead of you, seemingly out of place in this desolate area. Dead trees are scattered about, and the stucco on the outside of the structure is old and weathered, giving it a weary look.

He leads you inside, locking the parade out to peer in through the windows with zombie-like faces, not even allowing enough time for you to marvel over the beauties of the interior before his lips collide with yours.

You are shocked to the point of almost recoiling, and it takes you a moment to realize he is kissing you passionately, as though you're his lover. It is the most bizarre thing that has happened thus far today; the least expected, yet by far the most pleasing.

He lifts your shirt over your head, his fingers moving skillfully up and down your protruding spine, freeing you from the confines that used to be your clothing. You feel so exposed, so vulnerable – almost scared, truly. But you will do anything to satisfy him, to entertain him, to bring him pleasure… anything to keep him from harming you. So you surrender your body to him, arching your back under his touch.

You cannot help the inevitable smile that perks up your lips; he has never treated you this way before, and you're coming to enjoy it. You close your eyes, making sure to memorize the feel of his too-gentle hands; the sensation of his smooth ebony lips upon yours; the way you can feel him almost grinning against your mouth. He strokes your pallid cheek with his thumb, urging you closer, but as your chest presses against his, he ends the moment all too soon and abruptly pulls back.

He then takes a step forward, and you are sure to stay right next to him, almost cowering behind his lean shoulder as he raises his arm slightly and flicks his wrist. You question what is going on, your sharp fingernails digging into his bicep as you watch with horror while he slides a rusty syringe out of his pants pocket.

His silky raven hair falls over a contrasting dark stone eye, and he demands that you give him your arm. Unable to rebel against his wishes, you squeeze your eyes shut and press your forearm into his hand, anticipating the prick of his needle.

"This is where the carnival is drawn to a conclusion, my love."

You nod, trembling. But for a while you don't feel anything, and you let your eyes flutter open, catching a glimpse of his twisted smirk before you at last feel the sharp silver syringe puncture your paper-thin skin.

And after exactly seventy-three seconds, your world goes forever black.

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**Author's Notes:** Review and tell me what you think. I need some advice as well, so point out any flaws that you see so that I can improve my writing :)


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